


The Dangers of Circumstance

by ElijahDarling



Category: For the People (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Badass Anya Ooms, Bisexual Kate Littlejohn, Consensual Underage Sex, Crack Treated Seriously, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kate's parents are assholes, Keeping the bloodlines Magic is a Big Deal, Kinda, Lesbian Anya Ooms, Love Triangles, Magic is Genetic, Marriage of Convenience, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory Negotiations, Queer Themes, Rape/Non-con Elements, Renée Gunn exists in canon but the character she has in this is completely original, marriage of inconvenience, platonic marriage, this is similar to those Harry Potter Marriage Contract fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElijahDarling/pseuds/ElijahDarling
Summary: "A Matchmaker contract was a funny thing, and usually one designed by guardians for the child, but if you were canny and quick and knew that you were able to; a person could apply for themselves and cut their guardians out of the matter entirely.Her parents had no reason to suspect she even knew of the option, much less that she’d do so. They saw her quiet nature and took her for cowed. They missed the patience in her gait, the certainty of her posture."Kate desperately grabs for the reigns of her own destiny in a world where Magic is real and a huge pain in the ass if you happen to have any. Roger didn't want a second bride after dissolving his first marriage years ago and falling in love with the manager of his estate, but at least this young woman has a lick of common sense with some to spare.





	1. We meet our reluctant heroine.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [litra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/gifts).



> Go yell at Litra if you hate the premise of this fic. Specifically, yell at her cursed DnD dice.

Kate had been thirteen when she first contacted a Matchmaker. The youngest a person could be to apply for an arranged marriage without a guardian’s permission.

 

She was tired of being used as a bargaining chip and trophy: the Magicked child in a lineage thought to have been weaned of such a blessing. According to her parents, an ungrateful child too. When she’d been small there had been opportunities to escape the attention of her guardians: playmates in the training yards and servants’ children. There’d even been Leonard, whose mother had propped him up as a would be suitor when they’d been seven before she’d taken the Test and suddenly found herself yanked out of his and (for that matter) all company that wasn’t an extra Something.

 

It was untenable. She’d always been a serious and reserved child, but left only to the company of her parents…

 

Well, not even letters smuggled to her from Leonard by Anya and Anya’s companionship when she could sneak in from the training yards could possibly sustain her.

 

She wasn’t keen on being bartered away and then kept as a breeding mare for the rest of her days either.

 

With the covert help of Leonard and his access to tutors and contract drafters, she penned her Match application. A Matchmaker contract was a funny thing, and usually one designed by guardians for the child, but if you were canny and quick and knew that you were able to; a person could apply for themselves and cut their guardians out of the matter entirely.

 

Her parents had no reason to suspect she even knew of the option, much less that she’d do so. They saw her quiet nature and took her for cowed. They missed the patience in her gait, the certainty of her posture.

 

It was brought violently to the forefront when they tried to arrange a contract themselves for her when she was seventeen and got a letter from the Matchmaker that Kate had already usurped control of her life from them four years prior.

 

Kate found herself homeless and with only Anya for company, and a bundle of letters from Leonard carefully tucked into a sack.

 

Anya had wanted to join the army, or maybe become a mercenary, and with the money from that buy them a small farm - stash Kate away until the contract ran out and Kate was too old for breeding. It was a disagreement that had them fighting almost the entire way to Leonard’s estate.

 

“Is that who I am, then? A woman to be kept, and then a farmer that does not know turnip from parsnip? They did not teach you how to tend the land when they taught you the sword, Anya. What makes you think that either of us would suit as farm hands?”

 

Anya did not think it would be so hard to learn, and would be better than to throw themselves on the mercy of Leonard, who Kate had not seen since she was eight years old.

 

They had safe, if irritable, travel. Between Anya’s physical prowess and Kate’s Magic shielding and disguising their trail, they were unmolested and whole when they knocked on Leonard’s door. Anya managed to not challenge Leonard to a bout in the yard when he greeted them by kissing Kate’s hand and then _winking,_ and his mother welcomed them warmly even if certain ulterior motives were clear.

 

As years crept by and she went from seventeen to twenty-five, she never quite forgot that somewhere out there a contract lay in waiting like a trap to be sprung, but more often than not it seemed largely irrelevant. Like when Anya woke her with biting kisses each morning, and Leonard kissed her goodnight like honey was tucked in her cheek and he wanted to taste every last bit of it. Or when she could sit as the unofficial lady of the estate and discuss taxes and this year’s crop yield. Or as she dazzled all the household’s children with small shows of Magic under the table even as she kept a serious face in said debates - Anya and Leonard having both convinced her that she was allowed to be playful and entertain childlike fancies after having her childhood gutted in front of her.

 

Leonard’s mother was satisfied with letting them play house. If Kate’s bodyguard was often discovered in her bed by maids, then what of it? Said bodyguard could not get her with child and seemed to have an unspoken arrangement with her son about sharing in Kate’s affections. And, even if they could not be wed with Kate’s contract existing in the Matchmakers’ keep, they could still have many children between them to carry on their line - from a Magicked mother too! Her unMagicked son had a rare opportunity that she would not squader simply because of a little impropriety and perversion.

 

Then, of course, came a morning that would have been like any other if it weren’t for the letter that read:

 

_To the Lady Littlejohn, Kate_

 

_As requested of the Matchmakers, we have found for you a Magicked betrothed willing to meet and be met with your mutual stipulations. You are to be wed to his Lordship Gunn, Roger - no later than a year and a day’s past your reception of this letter._

 

_We wish you a well and good partnership._

 

The words had glowed and then faded to normal ink as Kate read it - signaling to the Matchmaker that she’d indeed received the declaration of pending nuptials. And, simple as that, the trap of twelve years sprung.

 

(“I could have learned to farm,” Anya muttered that night while Leonard paced in their bedchamber and desperately tried to come up with ways out.

 

Kate said nothing, just tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the letter - patient. Certain.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr over at ElijahDarling - come prompt me there (or in the comments) so I don't write shit like this anymore.


	2. Our hero(?) has a turn to tell his tale.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He’d met his wife to be when he was ten, and she fifteen. Both their parents had been pleased with the arrangement and so enthused they’d broken into the good wine that night. Roger remembers sitting with her with cider in his cup and wine in hers, her feet reaching the ground and his own not quite.
> 
> The only matching amount of anything the two had, he knew, was degree of misery."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be mindful of the rating going up and the warnings/tags I'm adding to this fic in general. 
> 
> And introducing... Renée Gunn! Roger mentions her in canon when talking to Jill about his ex-wife.

He’d met his wife to be when he was ten, and she fifteen. Both their parents had been pleased with the arrangement and so enthused they’d broken into the good wine that night. Roger remembers sitting with her with cider in his cup and wine in hers, her feet reaching the ground and his own not quite.

 

The only matching amount of anything the two had, he knew, was degree of misery.

 

They’d wed a week after his fourteenth birthday. Both Magicked, but not manifested in that potential. It was unlikely that either of them would ever possess the ability to manipulate Magic if they hadn’t learned by then.

 

A good match, all agreed. The Matchmakers were invited to the wedding as was tradition and considered good luck, and the space made for them was left vacant. Roger’s eyes had looked to these empty spots more often than met his bride’s gaze. 

 

After all, it was these absent attendees who had made this take place - not him or her. 

 

Power, he thought, was having control of a room you were not even in.

 

On his wedding night, Renée had let him kiss her cheek. He lay next to her, staring at the ceiling and feeling even more of a boy-sized fool than his meeting her at ten years old. 

 

She was kind, but negligent. He quickly learned that while she never intended him wounded pride or heartache, it didn’t overly trouble her if he felt it as a consequence of her actions. It had been understandable not to be intimate when he’d still been only half a man, but when he’d grown into his big feet and she continued her pursuit of every stagnant sheep herder, Roger near bit through his cheek to keep from yelling.

 

He’d been determined to win her favor; with sweet notes and wild flowers, and then tomes of philosophy and aged liquor. His courtship of Renée, he’d note bitterly later on, was more evidence of his slow maturation from boyhood than any genuine knowledge of her as wife and partner.

 

Roger had been chaste for years, she hadn’t been. When a day came that she decided to give him a whirl, he’d found it impossible to remain hard. She’d pushed his head down her body and taught him how to make her gasp and arch and then settle into her body with a ease he never had in his own skin.

 

Seeing her look so satisfied killed the resentment that had burned in him up til that point. Renée was his only because of people who’d never met either of them, and if she couldn’t choose her husband, then she’d choose her pleasure. Or create it out of what was there.

 

Power, Roger decided, was the person in the room who subverted control and thrived in the loopholes inherent in details.

 

They’d stayed wed for fifteen years. The union did not produce a child, as had been intended. He might well have lived with her for the rest of his days, occasionally playing the role of lover when she would come to him, but for the most part conducting their lives entirely separate.

 

It wasn’t until Jill that it occured to either that perhaps they needn’t carry on as such.

 

Jill had been hired on to be head of household after his mother had passed and his wife declined to take up the mantle. She’d been no nonsense - with lines in her face that aged her a little past the years she reported under her belt. Roger had sensed a kindred spirit in her the first time he’d stumbled upon her in the library late at night and found her reading one of his books. Well, one of the philosophy books he’d gifted Renée and she’d never touched. 

 

It became tradition for him to find her and debate by the fire until they ran out of kindling to fuel it and were forced to retire.

 

His wife had been the one to suggest that next time Jill and he had one of their midnight arguments that they go to bed together instead of parting at the stairs. Roger had gaped at her boldness - not surprised to hear a lewd suggestion, but bowled over at the realization that he wanted nothing more than to do exactly that.

 

He’d thought that Renée had all the passion for intimacy, that he simply lacked the energy to keep up with her when he’d rather be sending letters to his favorite authors to pick fights about their theses or writing columns to submit to various newspapers or reading poetry when she was not around to accuse him of being sentimental. 

 

More and more he was doing all that in Jill’s company, and also unknowingly longing to take her to bed. He couldn’t imagine getting tired of her company in any form it might take; intellectually or amorously.

 

The smirk had died on his wife’s face when instead of immediately running off to sweep their housekeeper off her feet, Roger dully replied that he couldn’t do any such thing. He had, after all, made a promise to her that he’d kept. It mattered to him.

 

“You were a boy then; making that promise. I thought you man enough now to outgrow such a silly notion as faithfulness. You well know I have not kept chaste.”

 

He stares her down. “I cannot give her what she deserves - it is no matter of fidelity to our vows. It is that I would not take her to a bed she was not able to make her own. She is in our employ - to approach her when I cannot make promises would suggest to her I want a whore instead of a companion.”

 

His wife has him petition for a dissolution of marriage not even a week later. They do it with dread over what is to come. Roger wonders at the fact that this is the most love he’d ever received from Renée - a signature on paper applying to nullify their marriage on the grounds of barrenness.

 

The notary arrives along with the midwife. She combs through the house, inspects their food, and toiletries. She questions about Renée’s last date of menstruation, and notes all this down carefully in her book. She instructs Jill to have the cook begin preparing food that encourages fertility and lock away all the liquor. Jill raises her eyebrows and says nothing - she does not come to the library that night.

 

Roger does not either. He is in his bedroom, trying his best to ignore the notary in the corner as he makes love to his wife for the first time in two years. They will have to do this three nights a month for a year under the supervision of the notary and midwife before the petition will be approved. And that is only if they fail to conceive a child in that time. 

 

Jill sends ointment for the scratches in his arms, but will not meet his eyes when she goes over the menu for that week. 

 

He endures this. As, he suspects, they will all have to in the coming year.

 

It is unclear in that precise moment what power truly is, but he strongly suspects it is beyond their reach and maybe always was.


	3. In which there is an ill-fitting dress.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "(Kate remembers when after several nights curled protectively around her, Anya had disappeared for days and come back with a bruised cheek and two letters. 
> 
> One had been for Kate.)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday Flashback chapter!

(Kate remembers when after several nights curled protectively around her, Anya had disappeared for days and come back with a bruised cheek and two letters. 

 

One had been for Kate.)

 

Leonard had earnestly offered whatever help he could given the distance between them and the limits of their age and station. Kate, recently cut off from the world, was quick to seize on that to demand books - as many as he could spare. Specifically, those on the laws of their land and rules governing Magicked contracts. Anya had dutifully returned to the training yards with a renewed sense of purpose and grimly took to the task of turning her soft adolescent's body into a tool; ready to strike when the time came.

 

It was her hands that gave way first: going from raw and blistered to a fine armor of calluses. It was worth it when she brought her Lady one of those precious books. Anya would gladly endure any future hurt for another such look from her huge eyes, another smile only slightly obscured by a ducked head, another chance to stand so near.

 

Sometimes on the path between Leonard’s estate and Kate, it became unclear if she defended these letters and books - keys to her Lady’s freedom - more fiercely than her own body and life. Leonard, a boy three years her junior, had only asked once if he should employ a messenger for their purposes over Anya risking everything on these excursions. She’d pinned him with her dark eyes, and reached for the package in his hands. 

 

“You talk too much for me.” Anya muttered, and left.

 

As if to rib her, soon he’d began penning letters for her as well - including an allowance like he’d given her the first time she’d ever come to him at the behest of their mutual friend. Always, he’d sign the letters ‘ _ For your troubles. _ ’ Always, it was with coinage she could not possibly spend at home for fear of revealing a suspect source of income and could not spend on the road for fear of catching a thief’s eye. The little Lordling Knox, Anya decided, was all the trouble she could take.

 

Her view of him dimmed even more when he’d begun perfuming letters she’d deliver to Kate. Both Leonard and her Lady were fourteen, and since he’d had confirmation that Kate had applied to the Matchmakers, he’d acted like a pet bird. Preening and cooing with each letter Anya delivered - sending her back with silly ribbons and jewelry instead of the books Kate actually desired. Eventually she’d knocked him on his ass when he tried to convince her to bring her Lady a silken gown. 

 

“Do not waste her time with these frivolous things. Should she take a turn about her  _ locked _ bedchamber in a costly dress that you can not even spy her in?”

 

He’d smirked at her beneath unfairly long eyelashes. “Would  _ you  _ not like to see her clothed this way? You have not spent a coin I’ve given. Why not take my gift?”

 

(Kate had unfolded the dress on her fifteenth birthday - brow creased in confusion. 

 

“A disguise?” She guessed. Anya shook her head - smile rueful. 

 

She’d let Anya help her into it. 

 

And then out of it, later when the candles were all a whisper away from wax pools and she had her Lady’s arms around her shoulders. It felt like only them in that moment, even with Leonard’s gift catching her eye from its place on the floor.)

 

Somehow he’d known what had happened the next time she came, though weeks had passed. He’d insisted she come walk with him and asked if she would tell him what had occured. 

 

If he had smirked in the asking or acted at all like knowing was his due, she may well have decked him and been on her way - letters be damned.

 

But Leonard had looked pained. His voice had faltered in making the request. She had not heard the boy hesitate in seven years of knowing him. 

 

Anya told him that Kate had looked lovely - and fragile in a way she never actually was. The silk had bunched around her shoulders and hung a little too loose in the chest, but otherwise settled well enough on her frame. 

 

“And then?”

 

She’d furrowed her brow. 

 

Slowly, she tapped two fingers to his forehead. Heard the hiss of his sharp inhale.“I kissed her here, dry and soft.” 

 

His cheek, and felt the heat of him. “Here, my mouth not quite open.” 

 

His neck. The sturdy thread of his heart; delicate and bare. “Here. Wet, with teeth.”

 

Anya thought of Kate’s fumbling hands, and how she’d coaxed her Lady’s thigh onto her hip and slowly rocked them both to satisfaction.

 

She touched his mouth. “Here. Over and over and over - any way she’d let me. Until our lips chapped.”

 

She took back her fingers, folded her arms to regard him and his dazed expression. She’d heard somewhere that all gods were beings of simultaneous mercy and cruelty, and that a person never quite knew what word and deed from one of them was which. Looking at him, she realized that this is what a god felt like in front of kneeling and reeling undignified mortality. 

 

“I am not your proxy lover, Lordling. My love is my own. I will not give her up easy if we come to you for safe haven.”

 

Leonard for once made no joke out of her. He’d looked over her shoulder, clenched his jaw, and nodded. The letter he gave her to bring to Kate that day was not perfumed.

 

Still, she caught her Lady blushing while she read it in the evening after her return.

 

(A blush not unlike the one Anya’s own lips had inspired.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr over at ElijahDarling - come prompt me there (or in the comments).


End file.
